


What Never Was, Was Lost

by summoner_yuna_of_besaid



Series: Middle-Earth Madness [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summoner_yuna_of_besaid/pseuds/summoner_yuna_of_besaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The whole of Elven-dom in Middle-Earth is in an uproar over Lord Elrond's taking the orc general, Azog, as his mate; none more so than his ex-lover, King Thranduil, of the Woodland Realm.  </p><p>It cannot be ignored that Thranduil offers what Azog never can: shared kinship, a love without conflict or controversy.  Can Elrond let that go, and hold true to a love shared with an orc, who is far away, with his own kin?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Never Was, Was Lost

**Author's Note:**

> I swear, I was just going to keep working on Hearts of Kings and bring these two back in that, but they demanded more. And then the Party King Thranduil forced his way in here, and here we are. Another side story. Oops.

There were scattered voices all around, distant and faint, as if far away though they came from those just beside him.  They were gathered for him, that he knew, though he paid it little mind.  Perhaps he should care more, but he saved his concern for others.  For one far away, far out of sight.  He knew only that he was alive out there somewhere, for he felt it where their spirits once had touched, but he knew not where or how.

“Lord Elrond?”

Lindir’s voice pulled the elf back to reality, albeit reluctantly.  It was not a pretty sight.  Gathered in his library were some of Middle Earth’s greatest, wisest, and most powerful.  And they were currently acting like a bunch of childish idiots.

Cirdan, the shipwright, was there, and his voice along with Saruman the White’s rang loudest in the library.  Gandalf stood beside them both, letting out deep sighs at varying intervals, while Celeborn, representing himself and his wife, watched with keen, narrowed eyes.  Radagast was there was well, fretting in a corner, seeming eager to speak but uneager to interrupt.  Glorfindel was at Elrond’s side, opposite Lindir. 

“Has it occurred to none of you,” Saruman was saying.  “that the enemy now must surely know the location of one of the elven rings?”

At that, finally, Elrond spoke.  “He does not, and he shall not,” The elf stood, making his way to the center of the room.  “Not even should he attempt to take it by force would Azog ever give the Dark Lord that knowledge.”

“He is an orc, a servant of Sauron!” 

“He is his own master.” All of this had been said often enough.  Even the wisest among them whom Elrond usually trusted to see to the truth of things was mind-boggled at the thought of an elf and an orc together.  Gandalf’s big bushy eyebrows had disappeared beneath his hat when Elrond told him.  Still, he at least would listen.  Saruman was not so open-minded.

“And if he betrays you?”  The wizard continued, turning to face him.  “If Rivendell should fall because you foolishly gave your trust to the general of our enemy?”  A harrumph followed that, as if those words were proof enough Elrond was wrong.  “Perhaps you were too young to have been given this burden.  Or, possibly your – weaker blood has made you more susceptible to… mortal weaknesses…”

“That is enough!”  Cirdan stepped forward, coming between them.  “While I find these events… questionable, and would like answers, I trust Lord Elrond and his judgment.  And I will not hear him slandered in his own halls, no less.”

“Nor will I.”  Glorfindel stepped forward.  “I have spoken to Azog, and lived with him.  He has proven himself to be a loyal friend of the valley and our Lord.  He had more than one chance to overpower Lord Elrond and take the ring by force, and time and again, he did not.  We owe him the benefit of the doubt, at least, to prove he can be more than Sauron allowed.”

“It is a heavy risk to take, for the sake of one twisted creature’s life, if it may be called that!”  Saruman barked.

That brought forth another round of bickering; Gandalf was of the mind of peace, of letting things play out and seeing where it all fell.  Saruman wanted Azog captured, killed, as soon as possible, before he might think of betraying them.  They were the two extremes, and all others fell in-between them somewhere, having heard only the barest details of Azog’s stay in Rivendell.  Elrond had barely begun to tell it before the arguments broke out.

“I could likely leave and not even be missed,” He said with a sigh, watching with arms crossed as his elders feuded.

“You might want to do so.”  Glorfindel, leaning closer, told him.  “It shall only grow worse and your affection for him makes you suspect.”  Elrond turned to cock an eyebrow at him.  “Go on, I will speak in your place.”  He trusted Glorfindel, certainly; but he was wary to leave when Azog’s life might be at stake.  But it was true that he was hardly helping, with his own anger at Saruman’s bitter words boiling beneath his breast.  With a slight nod, Elrond turned and walked out of the library, and no one stopped him.

Not long after the Lady Galadriel and her attendants returned to Lothlorien, word quickly spread of the “tamed orc” living in Rivendell.  When it became known who the orc was, controversy flared; and when the nature of Elrond’s relationship with him came into question? It was a catastrophe.  The thought of one of the Eldar laying willingly with an uruk was enough to bring his leadership capability under fire, for elves who had known him for centuries to doubt his loyalty and his mind, and many had declared that they would kill the orc for even stepping foot within the valley.

It had not been easy, dealing with the madness, trying to set ill minds at peace.  Most would not listen.  Those who would were still quite incredulous.  Hatred and malice between the two races ran long and deep; and it would take more than the word of one elf to change that.  In fact, the more he tried, the more Elrond wondered if it could be changed.

His people in the valley stood beside him, but the wide world was against him.  More than elves feared and hated orcs, and there were still those allied with Sauron.  It would be an uphill battle, at least.  But he had the easy end of it; it was Azog who would be fighting for his life, for his people’s right to live.  All it took for Elrond to keep faith was to think of his lover’s struggle, and he found the will to fight on.

It had been many months since Azog left, and no word had been sent yet.  Elrond worried; but he knew he lived.  At times, he had been tempted to reach out to him, to use the light and the ways of the elves to speak to him, in dreams.  But he feared what reception he might receive.  Perhaps Azog meant for this to be a clean break – perhaps he did not want Elrond meddling while he moved on and lived a new life with his people?  As much as he desired merely to see the orc, to hear his voice, he tempered his desire. 

Elrond left the Homely House, walking out into the valley; across the bridge he tread, dark thoughts ever following, until he came to the Falls of Imladris.  A small garden patio stood nearby, with a gazebo near the water’s edge.  Elrond came to stand beneath it, looking out over the water, eyes lidded and dark.

“Lord Elrond,” A sharp, powerful voice spoke behind his back.  “You seem quite sorrowful today.”  Gaze widening, Elrond spun to face the speaker.  He was faced with a haughty expression framed by long blond hair.  “Is it true then?  Did an orc run off with your heart?”

“Thranduil,” Elrond spoke with thinly veiled annoyance though a smile tugged at his lips.  “To what do I owe the – should I call it pleasure?”

“Not yet,” The elf muttered sauntering forward.  “I’ve hardly begun to woo you.”

“Woo me?” Sputtering laughter was his response, which drew a sly askance gaze from the taller elf.  Elrond could not help but grin.  “Is that your thin excuse for being here, to watch the chaos unfold?”

“It is no excuse.”  He turned his eyes back to the waterfall, distant and aloof as Elrond ever remembered him.  “Imagine my surprise when I heard that Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, who for so long had sheltered his heart and shared it with but a few, had given himself to an orc, of all things.  I could hardly believe it.  Surely, if such a lowly creature may earn your attention, I thought, then perhaps I too might have a slight chance?”

“Ah,” Nodding Elrond turned to the waterfall, leaning on his elbows on the railing of the gazebo.  “You’re angry.”

“Not at all,” The even tone belied the truth, but Elrond could read him well enough.  “Simply – surprised to hear it.  You always were so picky, after all.”

It was not pickiness that kept Elrond from allowing the elven King a place in his heart.  Though he might have, once; they had been much younger then, some thousands of years ago.  Thranduil had been enchanting, bright and brilliant as the sun, and Elrond had been attracted to the potency of his spirit.  He would not call it love, not of either of them; there was a time he was not sure Thranduil could love.  The depth of such emotions seemed to elude him, if only because he did not desire to feel them.  Sex and passion were his chief wants, and Elrond was pleased to give him both.  But when it was clear that was all it would ever be for them, they drifted apart.

Until Dagorlad.

“I did not look to give my heart to Azog,” Elrond said finally.  “But it seems that he was meant to have it, for it is his now, and I have given it gladly.”

Thranduil chuckled. He lifted his own arms to the rail, lithe hands slipping out from beneath long golden robes.  “Forgive me,” He began, in a tone that clearly begged no forgiveness, “but I find it hard to fathom.”

“I love him.”  Elrond said.  “That is all.”

“He is an orc.”

“He is Azog.”  Gazing up to the stars, Elrond found himself smiling.  “Strong, steadfast, and loyal, truthful and devoted to his kin, intelligent and witty and truly kind.”  When he turned his gaze upon Thranduil, he could see the disbelief in the elf’s eyes.  “All of that, and more, is he, besides the keeper of my heart.”

“And what was I?”  The elven king spat, venom entering his words.  “To be so easily cast aside?”

Sighing, Elrond turned to face him.  He reached out, laying a hand upon Thranduil’s.  “A friend, who I cared for dearly.”  Frowning, he tried to interlace their fingers, but Thranduil’s hand would not budge.  “What we had was desperation, not love.”

On Dagorlad, Thranduil lost his father and most of his people, and Elrond had lost a dear friend whom he had loved deeply.  Both bitter with grief, they had fallen into one another’s arms, much as they had in childhood, and for some years took solace with one another.  But it was a dark, somber thing.  There was passion, and anger, tears and mourning in their love-making, without the close fondness that love and affection could bring.  It left Elrond feeling cold, and somewhat used.

“When you married Celebrian that at least, I could understand.”  Thranduil continued, as if Elrond had never spoken.  His eyes, heavy and dim, glared at the waterfall as if it had offended him.  “She was worthy of you, a gem among rocks.  But to hear you are rutting with an uruk?”  Finally, the elf turned to face him, and Elrond was met with all the fire and heat of his gaze.  In quick-fire elvish, Thranduil accused Elrond of betraying his people, betraying his wife’s memory, for lying with one of those who had tormented her.

Elrond fell quiet.  He let Thranduil rant, until his face was flushed and his eyes bright, and when he was done, only then did he begin to speak.  He told the whole story, beginning to end, and this time there were no bickering wizards or lords to interrupt him.  He told of their meeting so long ago, and their reunion, of the weeks and months that Azog called Rivendell home.

“He makes me happy, Thranduil,” He finished with finally, when both had calmed.  Each was leaning upon their arms on the railing, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the waterfall.  After a while, Elrond found himself leaning his head on the taller elf’s shoulder.  “It is not the love I ever imagined for myself, but I am more than content.”

“If that is true,” The elf began quietly.  “Then there is but one thing I can say.”  Turning slightly, he gazed down with soft eyes upon his friend.  “Why are you not now at his side?”

“You know why.”  Elrond gazed up again, to the stars.  “His people need him, and I am needed here.”

“Ah, yes,” He could practically hear the elf rolling his eyes.  “It is so very important that you remain.  Who else would coordinate Rivendell’s choir practice, or hold Lindir’s hand through the rainstorms?”  Elrond nudged him at that.

“I may not be a King, but I have duties.”

“Duties that can easily be allotted to another for a time.”  Thranduil insisted.  “You have served Rivendell tirelessly for 3,000 years.  By your will alone, her borders and all within are protected by that ring.  None would fault you for joining him, for a time.”

“But now?”  Elrond sighed.  “With Sauron returned, and the world grows ever darker?”

“If not now, when?”  Thranduil replied.  “War will be upon us again, given time.  You – or he – may not live to see its end.  Let Glorfindel rule here for a while – or one of your sons, Iluvatar knows they could be put to better use than spending all their years hunting orcs.”

“Better spent hunting spiders?”

“Elrond,” The King’s voice was surprisingly serious when he spoke again.  “I know you think me a vain, fickle thing, and I am – but selfishness has its virtues, now and then.  You give too much of yourself.”  Turning, he looked upon Elrond one last time.  “Be selfish.  Go after him.”  Then, with a graceful turn and the long sweep of his cloak, King Thranduil sauntered off, back where he came.  Elrond watched him go with thoughtful eyes, contemplating very seriously his words and warnings.

That night, sitting in his bedchamber, Elrond lay down upon his bed, keeping in mind Thranduil’s words: _Be selfish_.  Though nerves thrummed beneath his skin and his heart hammered in his chest, he kept them close to heart; closing his eyes, he slipped away, far away, into dreams that were not his own…

 

* * *

 

 

_Enemies all around, even up into the skies, and there is no way out._

_How has it come to this?  Thousands of years of fighting only to be cornered like cowering rats by elves, dwarves, and men, slaughtered at the foot of the mountain.  But he will not die alone, no, Azog will take as many of them with him as he can, as many… as…_

_“Father?”  Bolg is here.  Why is he here?  For some reason, Azog feels he shouldn’t be.  But there he stands, amidst the war and ruin, all but invisible… but he is soaked in blood, it pours from his face, his eyes, there is an arrow flying –_

_“Azog?”_

_Flying, and it is coming for him, for them both, only he will survive –_

_“Azog!”_

He awoke; only, he was still asleep, somehow, that much he knew.  If he was dreaming, he was dreaming something new now, yet almost as bitter.  By looks, it was Rivendell, though he looked from below, lying as he was on someone’s lap.  Azog sat up, turned, and found himself face-to-face with Elrond Perendhil.

He looked upon him, in shock.  The elf seemed nervous, if his hunched look and wavering eyes were any sign.  “Hello,” He said finally, before wincing.

Azog blinked.  “This is a dream?”

“Yes,” Elrond told him.  “But I am truly here.”  Reaching out, the elf took hold of his hand.  “It is an elven magic that allows us to pass into and enter other’s dreams.”

“You…” Azog felt as if his heart was a lump in his throat.  Elrond must’ve taken his hesitation the wrong way, for his hand fell away, and he flinched.  Realizing the orc reached out and pulled him in tight, hugging him close.  “You’re really here.”

Laughing, Elrond hugged him back.  “Yes, I’m here.”

When the orc leaned away, he scowled.  “Why did you not come sooner?”

“I… was not sure whether my presence would be desired.”  Glancing away, Elrond shrugged.  “I thought you might want – space, after all that happened.”

He responded with a few chiding curses in orkish.  “You are a fool, _golugizub_ , to think I would ever not want you at my side.”  Elrond’s beaming smile was answer enough.

“How are you, _meleth nin_?”  The elf lifted his hand to trace along Azog’s cheek bone, softly.  “Are you well?”

Sighing, Azog covered the hand with his own.  “I am… tired.”  Leaving Rivendell had not been easy.  Orcs had not quite been right on the border waiting for him, but it had been a near thing.  Though the hunt had lessened since those first few weeks, the price for his head was still waiting to be paid.  His road north had been bloody, and hard.

“Where are you?”

“The Midgewater Marsh,” He replied, frowning at the thought.  A nasty wet expanse of marshland, far as the eye could see in every direction.  Wet, foul, and filled with gnats.  “On the outskirts of the Lone Lands.”

“But – why?”  Frowning, Elrond lowered his hand, letting it drift to Azog’s shoulder.  “You could take the road through the Chetwood and avoid it entirely.”

Azog let himself smile a little.  Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to his lover’s, let out a sigh.  “Men travel through the Chetwood,” He whispered.  “Elves, too, at times.  The road passes too close to Bree to be safe for an orc.”

“I’m sorry,” Elrond, lifting his other hand, wrapped both around the orc’s neck, pulling him closer.  “Sometimes I forget –“

“That I’m an orc?”

“That the world does not see you as I do.” 

Chuckling, Azog leaned forward to plant a soft kiss at the edges of Elrond’s lips.  “No one sees me as you do.”  Then he smiled.

Elrond smiled, too.  Only, it faded, and rather quickly was replaced with shock, and a bit of fear.  Elrond backed away from him, and stood, spinning round to look into the distance, and seeing his terror Azog stood with him.  “What is it?  What’s wrong?”

“Oh, no,” Elrond began, eyes wide.  “No, how dare you!”  Azog followed his gaze, and found himself looking upon another elf.

He was tall, lanky, attractive, Azog supposed, in the manner of elven people.  And he had a look to his eyes that was sharp, keen, and quite dangerous.  “So this is the orc.” The elf began, taking a slow step forward.  Immediately Elrond stepped in front of Azog, though he was short enough Azog could see clear over his head.

“Thranduil, _leave_.”  Elrond spat.

“What?” The other elf asked in a petulant tone.  “But we’ve only just met.”  That prompted a long hissing line of elvish from Elrond that only made the other, Thranduil, laugh.  He began to saunter round them in circles, long legs taking powerful strides.  His eyes trailed over Azog, and the orc lifted his chin.  Let him look.  He had nothing to be ashamed of.  The elf seemed to notice his pride and smirked, half-lidded eyes dancing up and down.  “I thought he would be smaller.  But then, you did always like the strong ones, the soldiers, the warrior kings.”

“Who are you?”  Azog spat.

“Hold your tongue, beast.”  The elf replied, though the words held little venom.  “You speak to Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm.”

“Well, your _majesty_ ,” The orc taunted in reply.  “You stand in my dreams, and I am King here.”

“Perhaps.”  Coming full circle, the elf came to a stop directly in front of Azog, ignoring Elrond completely though he stood between them.  “You,” His narrowed gaze fell harsh upon him, and Azog kept his own hard eyes even with it.  “have the heart of one whom I love.  I would see that you are worthy of it.”

“Thranduil, this is absurd!”  Elrond stepped forward towards the other, shoving at him.  “Y – You don’t _love_ me!  You have no claim on me anymore, and even if you still did, such behavior is beneath you.”

“And why is that?”  Glancing down at him, Thranduil smirked again.  “I mean only to ensure you are well taken care of.  Surely my affectionate concern is appropriate?”

“Nothing about this – or you – is appropriate!”

“You question my intentions towards Elrond?”  Azog had had enough of watching and listening.  This strange elf had doubts about him, fine.  He would disprove them.  He’d been doubted before, and he always proved his enemies wrong.

Thranduil turned back to look upon him, haughty and stern.  “I do.”

Pulling himself up, shoulders back, head high, Azog met his eyes.  “There is no one in Middle Earth that matters more to me than Elrond of Rivendell.  He is dearer to me than my life.  I would _die_ for him.”

Though he kept his eyes upon Thranduil, he could see his lover behind him, and the look of faint awe that dawned upon his face.  The taller elf, however, was not so impressed.  He gave an eye-roll and drolly replied, “Yes, yes, you are very gallant, orc.  But I’m afraid dying is easy.”  His dark gaze sharpened to pin pricks.  “Living for another is a different matter entirely.”

The elf began circling him again, with those long steps.  It was beginning to irritate him; but Azog felt that he was somehow being tested, by one who might be important to Elrond, if their familiarity was any sign.  He would pass any test Elrond’s kin could give him, do whatever it took to prove his worth to those Elrond loved.  He did not want to lose his love, but more than that, he did not want Elrond to lose his family, to ever be forced to choose between him and his kin.

“Do you know much of elves, orc?”  Thranduil began hands behind his back.  Azog met his gaze, but said nothing.  “I thought not.  Though I’ve been told you carry the Light as we do, I doubt you understand it.”  The elf came to stand behind him, and stopped. Azog did not do him the honor of facing him, merely turned his head slightly to the left.  “We are not mortals, who dally about with strangers who have no significance in our lives.  For an elf to love is to give of their soul.  And we grow stronger through such bonds, shared closely… and weaker when they are stretched thin, and distant.”

Azog turned his eyes on Elrond.  He did not need to ask if it was true; the way the elf had turned his head to look away, to the ground, was answer enough. 

Thranduil continued.  “You know Elrond is weak, of course.  He’s been… ill, for some time.”

“I brought him back from that darkness.”

“A temporary measure.”  Waving him off, Thranduil shook his head.  “You cannot bandage a wound for one night, remove the bandage in the morning, and expect it to be all better.”

“That is not his concern.”  Elrond said finally, gritting his teeth.

“It should be, if he is your mate.”  Thranduil turned on him, eyes wide.  “Or perhaps you don’t trust him so far as that.”

“Wait.”  Azog interrupted before Elrond could respond, though by the blush of his cheeks he was furious.  “Elrond is still sick?  He’s still – dying?”

“Day by day,” Thranduil replied with a dramatic effect, emphasizing each phrase.  “Such wounds run deep, and healing takes time.  Typically, it is the elf’s partner – or partners – who aid in such things… but it seems Elrond’s partner has decided he is not worth it.”

“I decided no such thing!”  Snarling, Azog finally broke his peaceful stance, storming up into the elf’s face.  Thranduil did not so much as flinch, half-lidded eyes looking down indifferently upon Azog’s rage.  “I left him believing him to be healed!  I would never of left had I known he was injured!”

“Of course not!”  Thranduil replied dryly.  “Which is exactly why he never told you.”  The response was not what he expected; confused, Azog leaned back somewhat, fists relaxing.  “You see, that is the first lesson you must learn when dealing with Elrond Peredhil; he is selfless, and he will always do what’s worst for himself if he thinks it will help others.”

Elrond groaned, throwing a hand over his eyes before storming away spouting angry elvish from his lips.  Azog, still confused, crossed his arms, meeting Thranduil’s eyes.  “What is the point of this?”

“The point is,” Thranduil leaned forward suddenly, his body bending at the waist to hover in front of Azog.  “If you mean to be his mate, then you had better be his mate.  Care for him, protect him from others, and most of all, from himself.  I don’t care what you are, orc.”  Scoffing, Thranduil leaned away.  “There are elves I find fouler than you.  But if you are going to dare claim to be Elrond Peredhil’s lover, then act like it.  _Help_ him.”  The anger in the elf’s eyes softened somewhat.  “He was born on the 23rd day of _firith_ , he loves white carnations, and if you ever hurt him,” The hardness of his gaze returned.  “There will be no place on Middle-Earth you can hide from me.”

Elrond gave a particularly loud groan of complaint at that.

But Azog held his steady gaze, firm in the belief that this was true, and he would like nothing better.  Finally, after a time, the elf seemed to come to some conclusion and leaned away. With a quick twist and flare of his cloak, he spun round, advancing on Elrond.

“Well,” He said to the younger elf.  “I suppose I approve.”

“Just grand.”  Elrond spat, tone as dry as the Southern deserts.  “I don’t know what I would have done had you not.”

Thranduil did not reply; he placed a hand on either of Elrond’s shoulders, leaned in and placed a soft, gentle kiss upon his forehead. Elrond’s eyes went wide at the gesture, and at the quiet elven words whispered to him after.  But before he could respond, Thranduil’s figure faded away.

Azog approached his lover, drawing him near.  The elf froze at his touch, then groaned and melted into it.

“I am so sorry for that.”

“It is alright.”  He shrugged.  “I am glad to know you have those who care for you so deeply.”

“He doesn’t care about me.”  Elrond insisted, turning into Azog’s embrace.  “I’m a toy he used to like playing with, and he doesn’t like other people touching his things.”

Azog pushed his lover back, to look in his eyes.

“You are very wise, but I sometimes forget how young you are.”  Then, he chuckled.  “Dear one, this… Thranduil,” He stumbled upon the soft elvish word.  “He loves you.”

Elrond looked upon him quietly at that.  “No – that’s not.  He could not.”

“He does.”  Azog said.  “He would be your mate, I am certain, if you asked it of him.  If… you preferred him…”  A quick kiss silenced him.

“Enough of that.”  Elrond said when they parted.  “I find I tire of speaking of him at all.  We only have so many hours, and tonight, I want to think only of you…”

 

* * *

 

 

In the early hours of the morning, Elrond found Thranduil standing at Imloden, a great gazebo overlooking the northern gate of Rivendell, the path to the Misty Mountains.  The first rays of sun stretching over the mountaintops shone bright upon his hair, and shed warmth upon his still figure.  He was a sight to behold, for certain; but Elrond had always thought that to be all of him.

Of course, he was not brainless.  Thranduil was one of the most crafty, intelligent, and witty of the elves still on Middle-Earth; but with that came malice, a malignance, that sometimes tainted his heart and mind.  He could be cruel, and wrathful, and since the loss of his father at Dagorlad he had become cold to the world and its larger concerns.  Selfish was the word for him; but it was not done out of a lack of care, but for having cared so greatly and hoped so much, and having those hopes dashed.

But whatever the reason, after Dagorlad, Elrond had found Thranduil’s new cynical apathy off-putting, even heartbreaking.  He remembered an elven boy full of passion for the world and a love of all things green and growing.  That boy became a man who seemed incapable of loving anything. 

Or so he thought.

Elrond approached Thranduil’s back slowly, careful to leave some distance between them.  He did not speak.  He was not sure what to say, or how, and he felt somehow as if he needed to apologize though he could not think of anything he’d done wrong.

“I do not see what you see in him.”  The Elvenking began, finally.  “I find him repulsive, physically.  How could you stand to bed him?”

“I did not come here to argue about him.”

“Oh, then what for?”  Thranduil turned to look upon him, half his face lit by the sun, the other still dimmed by morning’s shadow.  A sly, bitter smile came to his face.  “If you are here to lecture me –“

“I want to know why.”

The look softened; Thranduil looked over him, and then turned back to the horizon.   “You know the answer.  You just do not believe in it.”

Sighing, Elrond felt his resolve weaken, and he approached Thranduil finally.  “I had convinced myself for so long it wasn’t true.  I did not want to hope for what I feared was no longer possible.”

“Then you did hope for it, once.”

“A long time ago.”

They lapsed into silence, shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the horizon.  “Even now?”  Thranduil said softly.  “Knowing it now, you still chose him over me?”

“Yes.”

“He will never be accepted among our people.”  Thranduil kept on.  “You will both be targets.  Your duties divide you, and distance divides you further.  He cannot come and go in Rivendell, the Council will not stand for it.”

Elrond, though his heart was heavy, nodded.  “I know these things.”

“And when you leave for Valinor, where only the Eldar may go?”

Biting his lip, Elrond fought the tide of grief threatening to overcome him.  “We will face that when it comes.”

“Very well.”  Thranduil finished, turning his head.  “Then I will say again what I said before:  Be selfish.  Take your time with him while you can.”

Quiet returned; Elrond leaned more heavily upon Thranduil, taking comfort in his solidity, his closeness, something which he did not think he would ever have again.  It was then he found the strength to say what he’d meant to, when first he came.

“I am sorry.”

“Don’t be.”  Thranduil scoffed, though it lacked its usual strength.  “I am not.  Besides, not all that came of our parting was ill.”

Leaning away, Elrond looked up at him, slightly confused.  Then he heard a voice on the wind.

“ _Ada_? _Ada_!”

They both turned; coming up the hill was a young blond elf, with a smile upon his face.  “There you are,” Legolas Greenleaf sighed.  “I have been waiting!  I thought we were going to hunt.”  Then, finally, he seemed to realize his father was not alone, and he turned to look at Elrond.  “Oh!  My lord!”  He bowed, and Elrond returned the gesture with a nod and a smile.

“Prince Legolas.”  He said, watching as Thranduil stepped forward to accompany his son.  And as he left, he muttered to himself, “Not all ill, indeed…”

  ** _End_**.

**Author's Note:**

> The bit at the end where Thranduil looks into Azog's eyes and decides he approves isn't just Thranduil staring him down. In the Unfinished Tales, an elf recognizes that Tuor is a mortal man, and not an elf, just by looking in his eyes. It stands that elves must have some way of seeing the Eldar's light, aka their souls, and maybe if that's true, they can know something about you just by looking into your eyes? So Thranduil was weighing Azog's soul just then.
> 
> meleth nin - my love
> 
> golugizub - my elf 
> 
> ada - father (affectionate nickname)


End file.
